


and the river stops

by sithblood



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Character Study, M/M, future au where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts, kind of, sad guys talk about feelings: 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 16:44:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20361772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithblood/pseuds/sithblood
Summary: one day, ben is going to wake up and realise that he's not his father's son.





	and the river stops

Ben knows that he’s in love here, with Callum’s breath on his neck. With the small wonder of leaning back into something that won’t collapse. Here, with lips underneath his earlobe, _don’t worry ‘bout it_, fingers fluttering against the buttons of Ben’s shirt, a ribcage arched against his spine. Nothing in life comes that easy; he can’t look Callum in the eye. Salvation, absolution; Ben’s not a religious man, but the words taste funny in his mouth as he turns them over, traces them against Callum’s tongue. Like copper, like citrus. Like a smack in the jaw. 

It’s cos he’s kind. Ben ain’t never had kind, not before Paul, not since. The sort of guy who’d give you the clothes off his own back, _here have my seat it ain’t no trouble,_ soft hands, wide eyes – 

Sometimes it catches him off-guard. The enormity of it all, the tenderness; he flinches away as instinct, as self-defence. Callum sees it too, and it sets Ben’s teeth on edge – being vulnerable, being known like this. The first time Callum had touched him he nearly cried, cos he hadn’t realised how desperate he’d been, how lonely. His hands shake in the morning. Callum holds them, and he doesn’t say anything about it, and for now, at least, things are OK. Things feel alright. 

“We’re out of milk. And cheese, I think.” 

Ben sighs against Callum’s chest, the sound small and pleasant. He likes lying like this, listening to the beat of his heart, the murmur of a body working beneath him. Warm skin and hair against his cheek. He likes being held. 

“D’you want me to go?” Ben asks, looking up at Callum. He’s a bit unshaven, stubble on his neck, and still tired, still trying to keep his eyes open. It’s early; they’re awake before their alarms. Ben would never tell him, not yet, it’s too soon, but this is the best part of his day, just holding each other, just being together, just existing. No pretence. It feels insanely intimate, electric, erotic; being so close to somebody without having sex with them. 

“Nah, s’alright. I’ll nip out after work,” Callum says, his chest rising and falling with the soft cadence of speech. In moments like this, Ben is overcome by a mist of anxiety, the base urge to stand up and run as far away from all of this as possible. Domesticity, security, satisfaction – he doesn’t know how to be comfortable with any of it, was never taught, never bothered to learn. His chest feels tight. He closes his eyes and presses a kiss into Callum’s skin. 

When they’d told the Square they were seeing each other, Stuart had tried to punch Ben. Whitney had cried. Kathy had smiled and invited them both round for a Sunday dinner. Ben looks at Callum, sometimes, and wonders why he bothers with him. It’s hard work, it’s walking uphill, it’s not worth the hassle. Easier just to leave. It’s not love, cos Ben knows he can’t be loved, not really. Phil had taught him that. 

Christmas is an issue. They don’t talk about it until they have to, just buy presents, hang up lights, shop for a tree that’ll fit into the flat above the funeral parlour. None of Callum’s family would be there, so it’s up to Ben, up to their friends. The responsibility gives him a migraine. He turns down Phil (who hadn’t asked him, not really, it had been Sharon on the phone) and invites Kathy, Bobby, Lola, Lexi, Jay. Says he needs to see his little girl on Christmas day, says it ain’t fair else. He buys a turkey. Callum kisses him when he opens his present. 

They all show up in the end. Ian tags along, even though he wasn’t asked. Kathy brings round a fruitcake, which makes Ben laugh; Lexi brings a card she’d made him and Ben gets a bit choked up, which makes everyone else laugh. They watch the Queen’s Speech and put a CD on and drink wine and it feels nice, for once, like fun. Callum at his shoulder, talking to his mum, asking Ben questions about stupid things they’ve done together. _Remember when we went away last year and you locked the keys in the car?_ Everything is red and gold. He goes into the kitchen to get the Christmas pudding and when he comes back out everything is quiet and everyone is looking at him and Callum is down on one knee and – 

Alright. Oh, shit. Ben thinks about how stupid he looks, wearing oven gloves and holding a cake. He thinks about the tattoo on his left ring finger that he got removed. He thinks about Whitney. _I’m the happiest I’ve ever been_, Callum says, and Ben’s breathing goes funny, and his head starts spinning, but he knows he feels the same. He has two choices, and the road unfurls before him, and the river runs, and he knows a second chance when he sees one, shining, _come on don’t ruin this for yourself_ – 

He says yes. Callum kisses him. They both cry. 

“You don’t have to.” 

Ben looks up from the phone. Callum sits down next to him, presses their shoulders together. When he rubs a hand over Ben’s leg, he can’t help but look at the ring on his finger. 

“I know,” Ben says, but doesn’t put the phone down, doesn’t lock it. He stares down at it, and the contact name stares back up, PHIL MITCHELL, the string of numbers, the little phone icon. 

“So leave it, then. I ain’t having my dad there. It really don’t matter.” 

Ben knows that. He wishes he could be a better person, more like Callum, and believe it. Phil hadn’t rung him once since they’d got engaged, and he doesn’t expect anything, but – he just wants him to be proud. He just wants him to say well done, son, you did it, you made something of yourself. He just wants him to say son. He leans his head against Callum’s shoulder, runs a hand over his jaw. Maybe he’ll always love him. Maybe nothing’ll ever get easier. 

“It don’t, Ben. I ain’t marrying Phil bleeding Mitchell, anyway. So long as you’re there.” 

Right. Maybe nothing’ll ever be easier, but he doesn’t have to do it all himself. It’s not him, alone, shaking, naked, scared of everything, scared of his own shadow, scared to put a foot wrong. Someone loves him enough to stick by him. Someone cares. He switches off the phone. 

Ben thinks a lot about the future, thinks a lot about Callum, but sit him down with a pen and paper and he’s got nothing to say. Doesn’t know how to say it. Not smart enough, not eloquent, not articulate. These vows’ll be shit. Who does he want to be? He wants to be happy. Through all of it, the fighting and lying and vengeance, trying to one-up his dad, trying to prove himself, trying to be a Mitchell, trying to be a man, he just wanted to be happy. He just wanted to be loved. The sun shines through the window, into the bedroom. Ben sighs. He doesn’t think that’s too much to ask. 

Maybe he’ll just be honest. _You’re the reason I’m still alive_. Callum, in that way of his, in that shining, laughing, smiling, effervescence, that soft touch, that warmth, that forgiveness of his, without judgement, without consequence; he came along and he saved Ben from everything he hated about himself. _You showed me I was worthy of love_. Paul had done the same, once, but Paul was just a memory now, a ghost on a sunny day, and you can’t live off the love of a ghost. Callum fills him with it, wakes him up with it, lives it, until Ben thinks he could burst, until he’s sure he can see it shining out of him. He can hear the birds singing in the trees outside. They had decided, together, that he'd take Callum's name, that he'd be Ben Highway. He wonders now if he was ever supposed to feel sad about that, feel like he was losing something of himself. He'd never been a Mitchell anyway.

He thinks a lot about the future, Ben. Sometimes he closes his eyes, watches it slip before him, all those threads, glittering in the sunlight, the rivers that run, that turn, promise and opportunity, the impression of a better life than the one he was born into, soft hands, somewhere to land – 

And here’s the truth. Ben is going to marry the man he loves. Ben is going to kiss his daughter goodnight until the day she moves out. He’s not going to return his dad’s calls. He’s going to learn how to cook, and buy Christmas presents a month too early, and watch them sit underneath his bed, wrapped and waiting. He’s going to tell Callum he’s in love with him more often. He’s going to go on walks, and take up new hobbies, and watch the sun set from the window of a house he owns. Maybe he’ll try yoga (maybe he won’t). Maybe they’ll get a dog. He’s got all the time in the world, now. He’s going to smile. He’s going to be kind. And after it all, one day, Ben is going to wake up and realise that he’s not his father’s son. 

He smiles, digs his pen into the blank paper of the notepad. Watches the ink spill onto the page. He can’t wait to tell Callum about it all.

**Author's Note:**

> ben mitchell owns my entire heart. @240rising on tumblr


End file.
